


chicken tenders are classy

by joisattempting



Series: look over there it's a wild falsettos college au [16]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, anyway we’re here folks, everyone’s dating it’s a party, featuring pamela the gps, goldie from tnn inspired trina’s outfit, i really can’t just write nice fluffy trindel can i, paid promo for tnn i love that show, why is it that all my trindel involves angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisattempting/pseuds/joisattempting
Summary: mendel and trina’s first date.
Relationships: Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld
Series: look over there it's a wild falsettos college au [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518932
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	chicken tenders are classy

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! sorry for a bit of a wait, but here it is! trindel is finally actually happening after many not-so-subtle implications lmao
> 
> i’ll admit i had my doubts about this but i wrote nearly all of it while i wasn’t feeling so great so go easy on me, but i still hope you enjoy it!
> 
> so um,, without further ado, here’s some trindel for you lovely people! 
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, they really do make me very happy <33

Mendel sat on his creaky bed, atop the striped sheets that yearned for the washer. It seemed as though the wall clock’s ticks had increased by tenfold in volume. The clothes he wore at the present moment felt unfamiliar, alien. They weren’t loud or brash or quirky - to put it simply, they weren’t Mendel. He despised the chafing collar on his indigo pinstriped shirt. The straight-legged, austere cut of his jeans intimidated him. His godforsaken brown brogues - a parting gift from his mother before he had hurriedly left his nightmarish childhood home for university - had emerged from the murky depths of the closet. Their prim energies evoked a nauseous, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; the reason why Mendel nearly never wore them. 

The volume of the ticking had increased yet again once it hit five o’clock. As if on cue, the dull buzz of the doorbell filled Mendel’s ears. 

He could do this. 

“Evening, Tri- oh,  _ shit _ ,” was the first thing he said. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding when she giggled. By now, he was - very indiscreetly - staring. At her patterned, grey cardigan with sleeves too long, and the mustard-yellow dress underneath it. She was showing at this point, and did a passable job of masking it. She wore sneakers, he noticed, a type of shoe stranger to Trina. But he liked them, and she knew it. Maybe that was why, in place of dainty sandals, there were white Chuck Taylor high-tops on her feet. “You, uh, you look really nice,”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Not too bad yourself,”

“Shall we?” Mendel queried, offering her his arm like they were at a nineteenth-century ball. “Charlotte let me use the car. I kid you not, this is gonna be a first class experience,”

The psych major had a tendency to have the occasional road rage, honking the horn in vexation and cursing out slow drivers in a colourful mixture of both English and Hebrew. It was hereditary, Trina supposed; his mother was far worse. However, today was an exception. Mendel chewed his lip as he took an exit, and his date could see the frothing anger towards the truck trundling along in front of them bubbling inside him. While the sun’s orange light waned as they drove, the girl pondered if it was acceptable to find his frustrations endearing. 

They arrived at the quaint Italian place after two renditions of Sweet Home Alabama and a heated fight with the GPS that almost resulted in the man’s phone being hurled from the window. Mendel killed the engine, exhaling with relief. With all his strength, he attempted to parry with the voice at the back of his head. The one that hissed doubts into his ear, stunning him into nervous silence. Was she enjoying herself? It seemed so in the car, but she could have merely been putting it on out of pity. Maybe she’d go home and gossip to Whizzer and the lesbians about how pathetic of a date he was. Too awkward, too quiet, too bashful. Either way, Mendel wiped his perspiring hands on his jeans and laced his fingers in hers. He nearly melted when she squeezed his hand in reassurance, offering him a smile.

“You’re doing great,” she said, almost like she was telepathic. “I’m excited about whatever you have planned. Plus, Cordelia says I need to post more on my story. I want everyone to know I’m not a sad English major who dreams about Shakespeare hoisting her by her petard,”

“I-”

“That sounded better in my head,”

“That doesn’t sound good in or out of my head,” Mendel said between bouts of laughter, their hands still swinging. 

“Yeah, I’m realising that now. Can we go in?”

They did. Never letting go of her hand, Mendel led the way to the reservations counter. He beamed when the redheaded lady behind the desk greeted him with a ‘sir’ and a cheerful smile, bouncing on his toes while she powered up her desktop. He felt sweat building up on his clammy hands, his voice quivering when he gave the name the reservation was placed under. He’d placed it after putting the communal shower to use, he remembered, and wore the floor thin with his panicked pacing. He remembered speaking to the tired man on the other end of the line, thin droplets of water plummetting onto the lint-riddled carpet from his curls while he explored his cramped bedroom in nothing but a green, striped towel. 

As soon as the redhead - Janie, according to her nametag - lifted her head, Mendel anticipated that this was where the night was sent spiralling down the metaphorical toilet. Pitifully, she frowned, running a hand through her ginger pixie cut. “I’m really sorry, you guys, but I can’t find you on the list,”

Even though he was expecting it, disappointment came barrelling towards Mendel like a fist to the face. He didn’t understand - he’d ensured his place was secure every night before bed, because the knowledge that his first date with the girl across the hall would be nothing short of bliss and perfection sent him into peaceful slumber. Of course the universe had to fuck something up. His heart thumped like a bass drum inside his chest. He felt Trina’s warm, comforting hands rub his arm, but he was paralysed. All he could do was stare into the dining hall, wishing unspeakable things upon the people that snatched his table from his loose grasp.

“It’s, uh, it’s alright. Thanks anyways,” he managed to say sullenly, and promptly turned on his heel to leave the restaurant, his hopes and dignity in shreds.

Back in the Audi, the man put his head against the steering wheel, black curls obstructing his line of vision as he sobbed. 

“I’m sorry, Trina, I really am. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, and now look at me. It’s almost six and I’m crying in a car that isn’t even mine,” He pushed the hair from his swimming eyes, swallowing thickly. “I can fix it, I promise. I’ll-I’ll go back in there. I’ll ask for the manager if I have to. Just… give me a chance, Trin,”

That was all it took for the girl to burst into tears, too. Jesus, the pregnancy hormones were really getting to her. Harshly, she wiped her flushed, tearstained face on the sleeve of her ill-fitting cardigan, trying to steady her shaking breaths. Trina edged closer, and rubbed soothing circles into her date’s back, triggering flashbacks from the start of the school year, when she’d done the same when he appeared at her doorstep in the dead of night, weak and fragile and distraught from the behaviours of his father. She’d keep doing it till the end of time if it made Mendel’s lips twist into the smile she knew and came to adore. Because she loved Mendel. She well and truly loved Mendel.

“‘Del. Listen to me. I don’t give a fuck about where we go. We could get hotdogs from a cart and stand in the cold. We could go to, I don’t know, Chick Fil A. The whole point of a date is that we’re together, and I loved every second of tonight,”

“That was so fuckin’ cheesy,”

“Wow, way to ruin the most perfect motivational speech of all time,”

“So Chick Fil A?”

“Let’s do it,” Trina said, her bangs falling in her eyes as she nodded with eagerness. “At least you don’t need a GPS for that,”

“Pamela’s given me enough shit for one day. And besides, chicken tenders are classy?”

  
  


_ fin.  _


End file.
